


Jonathan Sims... or is he MOTHMAN

by WormsOnAString



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A little bit of fluff at the end, Angst, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, M/M, Moth Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WormsOnAString/pseuds/WormsOnAString
Summary: 5 times Jon was a bit of a moth man and one time he felt humanThis sounds so funny compared to everything but this is quite the angsty fic so...This was a request on tumblr! Check out this link if you want to request something!https://chethaunts.tumblr.com/
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Jonathan Sims... or is he MOTHMAN

**S1**

_ And as I suspected, this “statement” was nothing more than a drunken delusion caused by a fool who was out too late drinking with his friends. I don’t see much point in going into follow-up as there really is nothing to gain from this statement, but unfortunately, I do not want to be fired. The viable solution is to give followup to Martin, that way when he inevitably messes up, there will be no long term consequences. _

_ Statement ends. _

Jon sat back in his chair and stretched, sitting there for a long moment. That was the last paper he had to record for the night, an easy statement that filed neatly onto the computer. 

Good, he thought, he really could not fathom reading any of the more…  _ difficult  _ statements tonight. They were tiring to work with and there was still so much work to do with none of his functioning help (Tim) being left in the building.

Everyone was long gone for the night, it was nearly 4 hours past the end of the 9 to 5 work day, a fact that he chose to ignore. But it was of no matter, the stack of papers stared him down and Jon, in an act that he decided was cowardly, decided to take a walk before he had to start on the next statement.    
  


All he could think of as he paced was the time he was wasting, uselessly lagging in the shadows around the sides of the room.

His singular desk lamp was the only source of light to be seen, lighting panels long having been shut off, lightswitches were concealed in the darkest parts of the institute, places he would rather not feel for in the current night.

The small lamp on his desk over there, though, it was so bright in comparison to everything else, a beacon saying  _ come work, it is safe over here. _

And who was he to ignore the comfort of the light, telling him his best options.

He walked back to the desk and stared at the emitting brightness for a few minutes before grabbing the next statement.

Back to work, always back to work.

**S2**

Jon wasn’t paranoid, no. Who would say that? He was just being… reasonably cautious in a profession that he knew would one day get him killed.

When he woke up hours early and examined every bit of himself in the mirror, checking for anything that might have attached to him in the night, he was being a perfectly sane individual.

There was no need to risk his life when he could simply take the small, extra precautions. 

It was routine at this point anyway. Walking up and staring himself down, hair pulled back into a ponytail even though it was much too short.

But today, today was a bit different because as he stared at himself, it felt like his eyes were staring back. 

His vision blurred, suddenly there were so many more eyes. Staring, blinking, they rested all over his forehead, a parasite he had never heard of before.

Jon cried out and fell back into a pile of towels he hadn’t bothered to pick up in well over 6 months.

His breath was heavy and his hands were calloused and red, he saw them without looking. His muscles clenched, a flight response when all Jon could do was stare into the air as his thoughts raced and raced, faster than even his heart at this point.

_ What had just happened?  _

_ That wasn’t possible.  _

_ There were just… so many eyes _

_ It was just a simple figment of your imagination, you are making yourself worried over nothing. _

_ Was it though?  _

_ Yes, it was. Stop it. _

_ Stop it. _

_ Stop it. _

It.

Was.

Nothing.

Yes, it was nothing, absolutely nothing. His hands grasped the counter top tightly as he pulled himself to a standing position once again, his vision no longer throbbing with red from his panicked blood flow. Once again Jonathan Sims would find himself staring at the mirror for hours, this time with more intent, this time determined not to miss anything else.

There was nothing wrong, of course.

There was absolutely nothing wrong.

See. He was fine. Nothing was wrong.

He was absolutely fine.

There was nothing there, he wasn’t being paranoid, he was being reasonable.

**S3**

“And I was trying so hard to be polite,” the words echoed around Jon’s mind as suddenly everything dropped out from around him and he could have sworn that he was going to die.

A comparison to the fear he felt in that moment was… nothing. His head split open and his insides jumbled. His bones pushed together and his back, it ached so much, not that Jon could distinguish the blinding pain coming from everywhere with everything else that was happening.

Jon could barely register Mike talking through the wind trilling in his ears as he fell through the vast, empty sky. He was trying to regulate everything desperately, trying to get something to work in his panicked state. Words could not process. Thoughts could not process. Only fear and pain. 

Throbbing as he fell.

What did process, however, was Mike’s pause in the middle of his grand speech, a catch of air as the falling continued.

“A little bit of privacy, is that really too much to….” he trailed off completely. A pause in his cadence that made no sense. That was when Jon’s thoughts caught up to him and he realized that the tumbling feeling was no longer there. Only the pain emitting from his upper back and Mike’s eyes staring him down.

He was… floating gently, a level of calm Mike Crew held that Jon would have never expected to possess.

Suddenly, he felt like he was no longer going to die, in fact, it kind of felt like he was flying.

And then everything started rushing again and Jon was falling. 

Down.

Down.

Down.

**S4**

God, how things managed to get so far ahead of him, Jon would never know. Sometimes you just… pop in a coma for a bit and when you pop out, everyone you love is either gone or hates you. Good job Mister Sims. You are doing  _ marvelous. _

_ Absolutely fantastic. _

Jon had nowhere to go, no one to stay with, he was alone in his office, pacing like a rabid dog constantly. 

All his time was occupied trying to find a solution for something. All of that time ended up wasted. There was nothing. He was stuck.

Just one  _ small _ victory. That was all that Jon was requesting. One small victory. Was that too much to ask these days?

Of his checklist of things to do;

Help Martin

Help Georgie

Help Melanie

Help someone

Stop hurting people

He only had to do one. One small thing off of the checklist. His every moment, dedicated to crossing a single item out.

Yet it had to be so hard. He couldn’t do any of that successfully. He couldn’t do any of that safely.

  
...Not that it had to be safe, Jon realized just then. No. There was no reason he had to do things safely if he ended up getting them done. 

So he paced around his office, old boundaries of trivial things such as safety, removed. 

Plans formed, conclusions were made, now to write them down and execute them.

His energy renewed, Jon ran to his damaged desk and grabbed a statement, probably long useless now, to use as scratch paper. To scribble things down on.

The problem was, his wooden pencil which he had earlier been tapping with feverishly, now was completely chewed through, wood residue not even left on the floor. The only thing proving he had been holding a pencil was a scratched, broken, and misshapen piece of lead that once sat inside the pencils yellow casing

He had just consumed the wood as if it were nothing.

For fucks sake, he really could not have  _ a single  _ normal moment any more.

**S5**

Jon could see the world, he could see it all. 

It was all his. It was all him.

All the pain, all the fear. It all belonged to him. It was all caused by him. It was all an extension of him. It swirled around him in the air, twisting, turning, blowing, and carving through the very reality that the world knew. A melody played by the invisible instrument of pain, was Jon the player or the instrument? 

No. He was the conductor.

Jon was consumed. He was everything as he was nothing. He was an avatar, he was human, he was god. He was the pupil, but also the whole eye.

Jon was not just powerful, Jon was power.

When Martin rushed in yelling, Jon did not notice. No. Why notice one thing when you could see it all. 

Yelling about how the sky that had suddenly drained, how it had turned grey and how everything had stopped, Martin seemed desperate. Martin was scared.

Martin was panicked. Martin was confused. 

That got through to Jon more than anything else could have.

But for Martin, seeing Jon there, levitating a foot off the floor, eyes glowing dark green, a… were those wings? Spread out behind him. it was not… helping, to say the least.

It only made his panic grow more, something he could have never fathomed as possible.

“Jon…” he cautioned, “What’s going on?”

There was no response. Jon was not listening. Jon was not here with Martin in the present.

Jon was everywhere as well as Jon was nowhere.

“Jon?” he asked again, more stubborn this time, though he knew that the response he would get would not be his boyfriend’s.

“Look at the sky, Martin,” Jon’s voice echoed, it filled the room, it filled the cabin, it filled the world, “Look at the sky.”

Martin walked forward, towards Jon’s… for lack of better words... energy field. The sky was grey, the sky was green, the only way Martin could describe it was that… the sky was the eye. 

And then Jon collapsed into Martin's arms.

“It’s looking back.” Jon’s voice was hoarse, shaky, and quiet, but just as loud in the sudden death of the world.

As Martin held his shaking partner, piecing together everything that had happened (unsuccessfully), he was startled by the rattling noise of a laugh.

Jon’s laugh. One could not tell if the laugh was of happiness, fear, or exhaustion.

One may argue that it was all three.

Jon laughed and laughed and laughed as Martin sat there, more lost than ever.

Jon pulsed and shaked, energy coming in and out of him in a fluctuating way. Martin would have sworn that it would never stop.

And it didn’t, at least not the pulsing power emitted from Jon.

The laughing did though… eventually.

After hours.

But he did not stop.

**+1**

This was nice, Jon thought as he laid in Martin’s arms.

This was nice, he thought, though he knew in his soul he would soon think of it no more. He was growing weaker by the day, only hanging on to his strength so that Martin could have a normal week among the hell world that he had caused.

God, they were going through hell together. Those cheesy pop artists would have had a fit with their story (if they weren’t so heteronormative). 

The exhaustion was constant here at Salaesa’s but at least… at least Jon felt human. Something he had not felt in a long, long time.

For this moment at least, he could only see in his line of sight, he wasn’t drawn to any lights beckoning him forward, and he didn’t feel like he was hovering more than walking when he took a step.

Soon enough they would have to leave, everyone knew it well. Soon enough Jon would once again be the all powerful Archive. 

But for now, Jon revelled in the fact that this was the life he could have had.

And that was nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall how are you doing! Please remember to drink water and be safe! 
> 
> The best,  
> Worms


End file.
